The Eleventh Man - Ivan Doig [166]
"Ted, no funny stuff with a football for the show. We're in a goddamn war zone and Moxie and I both are on our last legs and—"
"Sure, sure. Anyway, how's it feel to make All-American? Catches you up with Eisman." Loudon's flat inexpressive face did not match the voice. "Hell of a thing with him and Danzer, isn't it—beyond dead, turned into part of the atmosphere." It took great effort, but Ben did not respond to that. "You guys as a team were something else," Loudon was going on, exuding sincerity. He did a slight jerking motion of his head to one side as if making a check mark with his chin. "Something else."
Ben jammed his fists in his pockets to hide their readiness. "Look, Loud—Ted, how about showing me what pony trick you want me to do on the broadcast, so I can go get some rest."
"Sam?" Loudon yelled across the room to the show director. "Doing a walk-through with my guest star. Come on up, Ben." The singing-and-dancing sister act was rehearsing on the stage, in gowns that looked spun from cotton candy. "Excuse us, ladies," Loudon pushed past with Ben following, "All-American coming through." At the far end of the stage was a folding mockup of a stadium broadcasting booth, pennants painted on and The Loudon Lowdown lettered large amid those. Rapidly the sportscaster rehearsed Ben in coming onstage when the Supreme Team cue was given and slipping into a seat behind the microphone in the fake booth. "It's tight for three," he jabbed a thumb at the empty seat on the other side, "but we'll make it work. Moxie'll be along later, he's getting dressed up. Hey, wasn't that tough about Bruno's team not making the Rose Bowl? One lousy touchdown short in the Stanford game."
"Tough."
"Anyway," Loudon thrust a copy of the script at Ben, "look over my questions so there're no surprises. Keep your answers short. Hell, I don't need to tell you the ropes—you're a star in your own right." The check mark with the chin again. "That Guam broadcast. Whooh."
Ben as if by instinct had zeroed in on the nub of the script.
The unbeaten Treasure State Golden Eagles of 1941 were a football team without precedent, and tonight I wish to honor them in a way befitting that. That gallant eleven, with every starting player enlisting in the service of our country after Pearl Harbor, went on to another peerless record, in courage. Nine of those football heroes gave their lives in this war, and in honor of how they gave their all, tonight I am naming that Supreme Team who so bravely traded football uniforms for military uniforms my All-American team for this year. We are lucky to have with us tonight the two surviving heroes...
Ben's temples throbbed. You never spare the schmalz, do you, Loudon. Script gripped in hand, he rose to get away from the man.
Loudon looked up at him expectantly. "The show's at midnight, remember, we have to do it that late to hit prime time back home. You're going to catch some rest, you said. Got an alarm clock?"
"In my pocket."
Ben left the Wonder Bar with Loudon staring after him in puzzlement.
***
He flopped down on his bunk with the cocotte clock set to go off in half an hour. He knew better than to drop deep asleep for an extended time, he would still be groggy when it was time for the show. He had lived with the clock of war for so long, with its unending hours and split-second dangers, that rationing his time for one last night was worth everything. Tomorrow a plane homeward out of the war. In some other tomorrow, a script made into a movie that would reveal Loudon and Bruno for what they were. His tired mind traversed from the one thought to the other, forth and back, as Maurice would have said. He dozed off that way.
When the cocotte clock dinged, he cracked his eyes barely a slit and closed them again against the corridor lighting pouring through the doorway. It was the most welcome indulgence in days just to lie there with the faint rosy nothingness behind the